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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Dolly Waters: The curious life of a combat prodigy. Episode 4
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Muddy Waters Offline
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#1
02-09-2018, 11:36 AM



"Fuck..."

I proclaimed as the nicotine smoke hacked out of my lung with a partially dry cough, filling the cab of my idling smelly van as I then turned into my left shoulder with my mouth and began choking up a part of my lung.

I raise my head up breathing heavily and fighting another cough while simultaneously sniffling some snot back up into the nostril of my red nose. This cold was fucking nagging to say the least. Slowly and with a slight shake in my hand I put my cigarette back up to my mouth, gripping on it this time ever gently with my teeth just before grabbing into the inside of my Carhart and pulling out a bottle of Evan Williams Whiskey and proceed to give it a good swig.

"Dude!"

I glance over to my passenger seat to see Matthew- my AV guy- crouched into his seat while covering his mouth and nose up with his hoodie and peering over at me with an agitated stare.

With a gag and a briskly "ahhhhhh" I pull the pint of whiskey from my lips and hand it towards him, but it only pissed him off:

"Are you fucking serious? You're sick as fuck, Brian. I don't even know why in the FUCK we're out here still on this wild ass goose chase."

Honestly... I wasn't too sure either.

My name is Brian Cawood, and I'm somewhat of a dying breed of my generation. I'm a starving artist. But of the world of journalism. And one who actually fights for and becomes intertwined with the substance of truly substantive stories. You know- the ones that grip at the cords of your soul and inspires people to ask questions, and to always investigate the truth inside themselves. And I'm damn good at it too- it's just... well things are a little tight right now. Like living out of my van- tight. All of this seems fairly unfair...

I busted my ass through college in one of the most prestigious video journalism programs in the country, working nights at a scummy Huddle House just to merely knock a chip off of what would be my current mountain's worth of student debt. Within my first three months out of college I co-produced and directed a feature on the vaping phenomenon that was critically acclaimed by The Times, and The Nation.

So you can imagine I was riding pretty high on that proverbial hog- hobnobbing it with snooty leftist of the journalism world; you know, the type of pseudo intellectual hack jobs who litter their already trite garbage with divisive political leanings. They're the type of journalists that our President would deem "fake news", and honestly, while he's a total jackass, I wouldn't totally disagree. They all want so badly to be Christopher Hitchens, but they lack the courage to speak the truth on societal problems as a whole- and not just the entire "the left is moral-the right is racist" bullshit.

Given that description as to the crowd I'd thrown my lot in with, it's easy to see why I turned such a foul as of late. Because my next work was going to be the end game so to say of documentaries- only it wasn't "political" enough to be considered relevant by these assholes- so my resources were fucking nil to say the least. But I'd be damned if I'd let that deter me from what was going to be the greatest story ever told, the one to launch me into the books with names like Steve James and Errol Morris, my Sistine Chapel...

Dolly Waters: The curious life of a combat prodigy.

I still remember the first time I caught a glimpse of Dolly Waters. It was back in the fall of '16. I was in some dirty lounge in NYC having a whiskey when I noticed what the bartender had been eyeing on the tube- XWF Saturday Savage. Now usually these combat shows weren't my thing, and more catered to the blood thirsty, confederate flag flying, food stamp receiving, Donald Trump supporting caste of America- but something was catching my eye.

A little girl, no more than 50 pounds soaking wet was straddling a grown man on top of a cage, beating his face into the blood stained mesh of the steel. Feeling already weary, I gave my glass of whiskey a peculiar look, took the rest of the drink back, rubbed my eyes and looked at the television again. Next thing I know, this girl is kneeing the poor bastard in the face, sending him plummeting from the cage to what I assumed was his certain death.

"Hey, Bill?"

I was actually a regular here, so I knew the bartender's name,

"Who's that on the TV?"

"Oh her?"

he asked with a chuckle,

"That's Dolly Waters... real bad ass fighter."

"You're kidding? She looks thirteen..."

I had figured she must have been someone suffering from some form of dwarfism or something,

"She's twelve"

Bill quipped,

Un-fucking-believable. What was I hearing? What was I watching? I needed another whiskey to even process this shit. Here was a twelve year old little girl competing in undoubtedly the most savage, pardon the pun, spectacles known to man- a modern day Roman Gladiator event where people have literally died, numerous times on live television. And she was winning!

From that moment on I was professionally obsessed with, Dolly Waters. During a time in our society where a woman's sex is brought into question while running for political office, here was a little girl moving with the speed and striking with the force of a grown steroidal man. Who was Dolly Waters? Where did she come from? Likely Serbia. But where are her parents? Why would they allow this? Why wouldn't they? Is this shit even legal? I had to sink my teeth into this one- again, this was going to be my masterpiece.

But after a month or so of initial research on Dolly, and several attempts at interviewing her being shut down by her jew manger I was at a dead end- and as for Dolly Waters herself? By December, 2016 she found herself at the center of an illegal doping scandal and locked away overseas, which really made the need for this documentary to happen even graver. The story was juicier. My need to get to the bottom of Dolly Waters was at an all time high... wait, that didn't sound right.

"BRIAN!"

I turned away from the pale, rain covered streets outside of my window and looked back over to Matthew,

"Are we going to go look for this fucking hick or not? The fucker has already wasted our time once..."

Over two years later, and decent, yet minimal material on this project, Dolly Waters having vanished from the face of the earth, I had only one final recourse less I be thrown to the sharks of failure forever.

"Well?"

He asked again. Matthew is really getting on my fucking nerves. Whiny bitch.

Something suddenly catches my eye from outside my window...

"Muddy fuckin' Waters"

-end episode 4-

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